


Relics

by Brenda



Series: Brooklyn Reclaimed [1]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1269676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"That's the beauty of history.  It's written by the victors.  Which, in case you forgot, would be <i>us</i>, since we're the ones still left standing."</i>
</p><p>Or:</p><p>Steve visits Bucky after he turns himself in to SHIELD, and they hash out a few things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relics

**Author's Note:**

> Borrows from the Captain America: Winter Soldier comics and the MCU.

"Hey, Buck." 

Steve lets the titanium door slide shut behind him. Bucky is standing in front of the window: triple-reinforced, bulletproof, shatterproof, a tank would bounce off it, or so Tony claimed, and if there's one thing Tony Stark is an undisputed expert on, it's weapons and weapons defense. Which, as much as Steve hates admitting it, even to himself, Bucky is a damned formidable weapon. His strong profile is highlighted by the bright fluorescent light overhead. Steve hates how sallow it makes Bucky's skin look. 

But, all things considered, it's pretty low on the list of reasons why he hates that Bucky's in this uncomfortably sterile room at SHIELD's most secure holding facility.

It's his fault Bucky's here, a prisoner locked away in a cage, no matter how well-furnished it is. His fault that Bucky had felt he'd had to come back – to atone, he'd said, for everything he'd done as the Winter Soldier. Like anything that happened can be put at Bucky's feet, like he hadn't been manipulated and lied to and warped for years, for decades. Like Bucky's not just as much of a victim as any of the people he'd killed when he'd been under Lukin's control. 

If only he hadn't been so stubborn, so selfish, hadn't insisted on searching for Bucky, for wanting to bring him home, maybe Bucky would still be free. Maybe he wouldn't have felt the need to turn himself in...

Steve's gaze sweeps down across the standard issue camo-grey t-shirt and matching sweatpants they'd given Bucky when he'd shown up at SHIELD headquarters. The dull, drab shade matches the dull off-white of the furniture and the room itself, only serves to wash Bucky's features out even more. At least they're not starving him, since he still seems to fill out the clothes just fine. More than fine, if Steve's honest, but he doesn't let his look linger. That's not why he's here.

He steps forward, but Bucky doesn't move or acknowledge him. "Did I, uh...I could come back, if now's not a good time."

"Would it matter if it wasn't?" Bucky finally turns to face him. His smile is a terrible mockery, twisting his familiar face into something almost unrecognizable. The bright silver metal of his left arm gleams as if recently polished. Other than the dark sheen of his eyes and hair, it's the only true color in the room. "How many times do I need to tell you it's not safe for you to be in here with me yet?"

They've had the same variation of the same argument for the past two weeks. Steve just settles in one of the uncomfortable clear plastic chairs at the small table at the other side of the room. "Yeah, about that. Guess now's a good time to remind you I've always been terrible at taking advice."

"Don't I know it," Bucky ruefully concurs. He pulls the bottom of his shirt down as he finally steps away from the window. His bare feet peek from under the hem of the sweats. Steve doesn't want to think about why SHIELD hadn't allowed Bucky the simple dignity of shoes. "You know it's gonna get you killed one day."

"I went through that once already. It didn't take." Steve shrugs, and reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to pull out the deck of cards he's brought in with him. "I'm fine, Buck. You're not gonna hurt me."

"I already tried killing you. More than once."

"Hey, your cooking was bad, but not that bad –"

"Dammit, Steve –"

"Alright, fine, your cooking _was_ pretty crappy. I mean, your tuna melt was kinda edible, but your marinara was an affront to tastebuds."

" _Steve_."

Steve meets Bucky's glare with his own. "What?"

"You _know_ what." Bucky sighs, like he's disappointed somehow. Like Steve's disappointed him. 

Well, Steve's got news for him, and for all the shrinks and docs and agents listening in to their every word, and monitoring their every movement. He's not the only one feeling disappointed right now. "I know that wasn't _you_ who pulled the trigger."

"Last I looked, pal, me and the Winter Soldier share the same face and body and the same brain."

Another bone of contention between them, another argument waiting to erupt. But these days, Steve knows better than to rise to the obvious bait. And, if he's honest with himself, he's sort of tired of hearing it. Not that he's dismissing Bucky's very real sense of disconnect and guilt, because he's not. But if he wishes he could snap his fingers and make Bucky forget every terrible thing he'd been forced to do for the Red Room, he doesn't figure anyone'll blame him. And, even if they did, he wouldn't care. He and Bucky have more than earned the right not to give a good goddamn what other people think.

"True, but now you know who you are."

"Like that's supposed to make a difference," Bucky scoffs, but sits in the other chair. Steve takes it as a win.

"It makes _all_ the difference," Steve says, because Bucky's not the only one that needs the reminder. "Do you _want_ me to leave?"

"Even if I did, you'd find some excuse to keep coming back. You're worse than a stray dog," Bucky says, but Steve can hear the fondness in the insult. Which is another, and far more important, win.

"Humor me. It's not like I've got a lot going on these days." The moment he says it, he inwardly winces, and hopes Bucky hasn't caught the bitter undertone. He's supposed to be the strong one right now, the one dispensing advice and comfort or what passes for it. Problem is, that was always Bucky's job, not his, and he'd never learned the knack for it.

Besides, it's not Bucky's fault that Steve's persona non grata at SHIELD these days, that his services aren't particularly welcome or wanted in this new world order. Not that Steve would change what he'd done or how he'd acted even if he'd known the consequences. No matter what else Bucky had been – _is_ – to him, they'd been through the Great Depression and through war together. They'd shed blood and killed for the other, and that's not a bond easily severed. 

"Sorry. Long, and very boring, story," he offers, hoping Bucky'll let it drop. 

No such luck, if Bucky's raised eyebrow is anything to go by. "Yeah, I guess there can't be much use for the face of a long-dead war these days. Face it, Rogers, you're a relic. Same as me."

It's eerie how much Bucky's words echo Steve's own thoughts. Ever since he'd found himself in this unrecognizable future, one that seems to have little use for the values and ideals he'd held so dear, he's been searching for something that would give this new life meaning. Something more than just acting as SHIELD's cover boy and the good little soldier they kept trotting out when they needed the right sort of publicity. And maybe he hasn't found that higher purpose yet; hell, for all he knows, maybe there's nothing to find. But Steve's nothing if not adaptable, and he's learned a few things along the long, strange trip his life's taken, and the biggest one had been that surviving is its own reward.

Against every impossible odd in the universe, he and Bucky are still here. It's more than enough of a foundation to build on.

"Maybe we are relics, but that's the beauty of history. It's written by the victors. Which, in case you forgot, would be _us_ , since we're the ones still left standing." Steve holds up the cards. "Up for a few rounds of Texas Hold 'Em? I, uh, tried to get them to let me bring in a chess set, but apparently it's too dangerous or something."

"They'd be right," Bucky replies, then his brows furrow. "I thought you'd read my file."

Steve frowns, then it comes back to him. "The guy in Singapore." Some top level double agent back at the height of the Cold War. 

"Couldn't risk a gun, so I killed him with a bishop from his chess board." Bucky shrugs, but Steve can read the tension in his shoulders, and knows that Bucky's expecting Steve to recoil in disgust. 

He should know better. Steve's never been one to run away, especially not from a fight. 

"You did what you had to."

Bucky narrows his eyes, and crosses his arms across his chest. "You know, it's alright to admit if you don't want anything to do with me now. You don't need to keep coming out of some sense of obligation."

"I'm not. You know better than to think anyone could force me to do anything, even you."

"So what are you thinking?"

"Well, I was thinking was that I kinda admired the ingenuity," Steve says, truthfully. "I don't think I could've come up with something like that on the fly."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all." Steve busies himself with shuffling the deck again, just to give himself something to do with his hands. "I would never begrudge you doing whatever you needed to do to survive. And your skills – your ability to work with whatever you had at hand? Saved my bacon more than a few times."

"That's not the same thing. What I did in the War –" Bucky stops, and purses his lips together. Steve's fingers itch with the need to reach across the table and smooth the stress lines around his mouth. "Compared to what I did after – to what I did for the Red Room and Lukin – it doesn't mean anything."

" _Everything_ means something to someone at some point."

Bucky huffs out a humorless laugh. "Same old Rogers. Still _the_ most insufferably stubborn man I've ever met."

"Aww, I'm touched you remember." Steve grins, deliberately making it as wide as possible.

Bucky doesn't return it. "You know I can't change what I did."

"I wasn't asking you to. But you're still James Buchanan Barnes under all of the new machinery –" he motions at Bucky's arm "– and all of that Russian or Soviet brainwashing or whatever the hell it was."

Bucky shifts. Their knees brush under the tiny table. Steve desperately tries not to read too much into it. "Have you thought about what might happen if I never get myself back completely?"

More than once, but Steve knows better than to admit it. Not like it matters. He'd lost Bucky once already. Losing him again just isn't an option. Not as long as he's got breath in his body, and not even then. "No one's asking you to go back and try to be who you used to be. But it's nice to remember where you come from."

Bucky snorts and shakes his head. But he scoots even closer. "How could I forget, with you hanging around like a bad penny to constantly remind me?"

"You saved my life I don't even know how many times –"

"You saved mine right back more times than that."

"I know, but that's not –" Steve drums his fingers on the table, takes a steadying breath. He's gone toe to toe with Hydra, with Loki and Doom, with evil both great and small, and has had the fate of the world and cosmos resting on his shoulders. Yet, somehow, this feels like the most important battlefield he's ever been on, where his rank means less than nothing, and his only weapon is the truth. 

But it's a battle he'd wage on Bucky's behalf as many times, and across as many centuries, as it takes. "You've always had my six. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't return the favor?"

This time, mercifully, Bucky's smile looks real. "You've got your work cut out for you."

"Nothing worth having is easy."

"I dunno, there were a few girls from back in the day who were definitely worth it and about as easy as it got." And if the patented Bucky Barnes smirk isn't quite as arrogant and fulsome as Steve's used to, it's still a welcome sight for sore eyes.

Steve chuckles. "I guess your taste hasn't improved, either."

"I guess not, since I'm apparently still partial to dumb, stubborn blonds," Bucky replies, gesturing at him, and the look on his face is heated, pointed, _familiar_.

Steve has to take a moment to remember to breathe. His voice is none too steady when he replies. "Lucky for you I'm still partial to broody-looking, smart-ass brunets."

Bucky's gaze flickers to the security cameras mounted in the top corners of the room, then drops to Steve's lips. His voice lowers, becomes an intimate murmur. "You know we can't –" He pauses, seems to collect himself. "As soon as they've cleared me...as soon as I know I'm not –"

Steve doesn't need to hear the rest. He already knows what Bucky's trying to say.

"I thought you were _dead_ , Buck," he interrupts, just as quiet. This isn't for anyone else to hear. "I can wait as long as it takes."

"I just...I don't want an audience. Not for this."

"That makes two of us." Which probably makes Steve a selfish man, but he's always been selfish where Bucky's concerned. He won't apologize for it. "I'm not going anywhere."

Bucky's fingers inch across the table to brush across Steve's, a whisper-touch that burns through him like wildfire, singes nerves he'd long since thought were buried in ice. "Good. Because neither am I."

"Best news I've heard all year," Steve says. They stay like that for another moment, drinking in each other, and Steve sees every silent promise in Bucky's eyes. He only hopes Bucky can see the same promises reflected back in his.

Then Steve picks up the deck of cards. "Now are we gonna actually play or talk about our feelings some more?"

Bucky rubs his hands together, metal over flesh, and finally, _finally_ relaxes his shoulders. "I hope your poker face has improved since France."

"I guess we'll see," Steve replies, and deals.

***

**Author's Note:**

> The Chinese translation of this fic can be found [here](http://www.mtslash.com/thread-124409-1-1.html).
> 
> Thanks to Jo for the beta.
> 
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com/). :)


End file.
